


Sherlock's Pillow

by WatsonsStressBall



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatsonsStressBall/pseuds/WatsonsStressBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock sometimes uses John as a pillow. John tries not to mind.</p>
<p>With apologies to Arthur Conan Doyle and everyone associated with BBC's Sherlock.</p>
<p>Now with a <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1474675">Chinese translation</a>! Many thanks to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/cansees">cansees</a> for this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Pillow

When John Watson heard the first soft snore, he knew that he was in for a long night.

He twisted with as much caution as he could manage, tugging gingerly at the restraints that bound his wrists and ankles to the bed, seeking to ease his tired joints. He knew he had to be careful not to wake Sherlock as he did this -- previous experience had taught him all too well that Sherlock could be inhumanly creative when it came to punishment, and fantasies aside, he had no real wish to spend another weekend trussed, flogged, subjected to a bewildering array of humiliating activities, and used to the point of exhaustion, merely for the transgression of interrupting Sherlock's beauty sleep. John's movements, therefore, were slow and painstakingly circumspect as he tried to untie or at least loosen his bonds.

Unfortunately for John this evening, though, bondage had proven to be another thing at which Sherlock was all too skilled. The ties that held John captive beneath his lover on the bed were not so tight as to cut off his circulation, but they were deviously knotted and arranged -- he could barely move, much less free himself, and there was certainly no way for him to even attempt it without running the risk of alerting Sherlock.

At least there was one thing he could do to improve his situation, John thought as he quietly spat the soiled pair of pants from his mouth. He swallowed a few times and licked his dry lips.

Blindfolded, bound, and with no way to mark the passage of time, he fell into an uneasy doze.

*****

An indeterminate amount of time later, he awoke to feel Sherlock moving on top of him. Instinctively, John attempted to shift his limbs on the bed, only to remember his situation when his movements were brought up short by the bonds that held him securely to the bedposts. Tiredly, John wondered whether it was morning, and if so, whether Sherlock would want to take advantage of John's current predicament to indulge his own desires, as he had done on similar occasions in the past. It was not altogether uncommon of an evening, after the conclusion of another exhilarating case, for Sherlock to tie John up for a bit of fun, then pass out on top of him in their post-orgasmic glow, only for John to wake up hours later, still bound and captive on their bed, to Sherlock's hands and lips roaming over his helpless body, seeking a second helping. Most of the time John enjoyed it, but sometimes he was so stiff and tired from a night as Sherlock's pillow that truth be told, he'd prefer to be released so he could have a much needed hot shower to clean himself off and ease his aching muscles.

But it must still be nighttime, as Sherlock seemed fairly dead to the world. He had shifted down John's body until his head lay on John's chest, arms on either side of his stomach, the rest of him sprawled between John's forcibly spread legs, breathing deeply and regularly. John squirmed a little and twitched, but Sherlock did not wake. For such a thin man, Sherlock's dead weight was surprisingly heavy, and he slept on, oblivious to the quiet struggles of the smaller man uncomfortably bound to the bed beneath him.

John exhaled. He had no way of knowing how much of the night had passed and how much remained for him to spend stuck here. How typically selfish of Sherlock, thought John in a moment of weary resentment. He remembered all the times Sherlock summoned him from the other side of London because he was too lazy to find a pen, or make tea, or send a text, and his frustration built inside of him. These things weren't enough, but now he was reduced to a living mattress topper?

A low rumble interrupted John's silent musings, and John froze, certain that Sherlock was waking. Maybe, he thought, maybe, if I remain very still, he will go back to sleep.

But though Sherlock stirred gently, he did not wake; and presently, John could just make out a sound, in a low baritone, mumbled into his chest:

"J--nnnnn..." slurred Sherlock, and hugged John tighter, burrowing closely into his body as if for comfort. Sighing, Sherlock murmured something else and slipped back into a heavy sleep, faintly snoring once more.

Something twinged then in John's chest. He suddenly thought of all the years that Sherlock had spent alone, risking his life for a largely ungrateful populace, solving case after case only to be called "freak" by a police force that would be stymied without him. He thought of how alone he had been himself on his return to London, friendless and all but penniless, and how Sherlock had brought excitement and joy back into his life -- and more, a friendship and a love he'd never thought to look for. John remembered next the long years when he'd thought Sherlock was dead, then his fury and his unbounded wonder and relief when, beyond all hope, his friend returned to him.

Sherlock was everything to him, but it hit him then that he, John Watson, was somehow the whole world to this incredible, flawed, brilliant, beautiful genius.

He longed then to wrap his arms around Sherlock, but bound as he was, all he could do was to continue to lie still, allowing Sherlock the comfort of his body.

In some ways, it wasn't so different from rushing across London to send a text, or even shooting a serial killer to save Sherlock's life, and it wasn't even that difficult, he thought. 

If this is what Sherlock needed, then John would provide it. He never could refuse Sherlock anything he needed.


End file.
